J. A. Johnstone on William W. Johnstone
When the Truth Becomes Legend
William W. Johnstone was born in southern Missouri, the youngest of four children. He was raised with strong moral and family values by his minister father, and tutored by his schoolteacher mother. Despite this, he quit school at age fifteen.
I have the highest respect for education, he says, but such is the folly of youth, and wanting to see the world beyond the four walls and the blackboard. True to this vow, Bill attempted to enlist in the French Foreign Legion (I saw Gary Cooper in Beau Geste when I was a kid and I thought the French Foreign Legion would be fun) but was rejected, thankfully, for being underage. Instead, he joined a traveling carnival and did all kinds of odd jobs. It was listening to the veteran carny folk, some of whom had been on the circuit since the late 1800s, telling amazing tales about their experiences which planted the storytelling seed in Bills imagination.
They were honest people, despite the bad reputation traveling carny shows had back then, Bill remembers. Of course, there were exceptions. There was one guy named Picky, who got that name because he was a master pickpocket. He could steal a mans socks right off his feet without him knowing. Believe me, Picky got us chased out of more than a few towns.
After a few months of this grueling existence, Bill returned home and finished high school. Next came stints as a deputy sheriff in the Tallulah, LA. Sheriffs Department, followed by a hitch in the U.S. Army. Then he began a career in radio broadcasting at KTLD in Tallulah, Louisiana, that would last sixteen years. It was here that he fine-tuned his storytelling skills. He turned to writing in 1970, but it wouldnt be until 1979 until his first novel, The Devils Kiss , was published. Thus began the full-time writing career of William W. Johnstone. He wrote horror ( The Uninvited ), thrillers ( The Last of the Dog Team ), even a romance novel or two. Then, in February 1983, Out of the Ashes was published. Searching for his missing family in the aftermath of a post-apocalyptic America, rebel mercenary and patriot Ben Raines is united with the civilians of the Resistance forces and moves to the forefront of a revolution for the nations future.
Out of the Ashes was a smash. The series would continue for the next twenty years, winning Bill three generations of fans all over the world. The series was often imitated but never duplicated. We all tried to copy The Ashes series, said one publishing executive, but Bills uncanny ability, both then and now, to predict in which direction the political winds were blowing, brought a dead-on timeliness to the table no one else could capture. The Ashes series would end its run with more than thirty-four books and twenty million copies in print, making it one of the most successful mens action series in American book publishing. ( The Ashes series also, Bill notes with a touch of pride, got him on the FBIs Watch List for its less than flattering portrayal of spineless politicians and the growing power of big government over our lives, among other things. In that respect, says collaborator J. A. Johnstone, Bill was years ahead of his time.)
Always steps ahead of the political curve, Bills recent thrillers, written with J. A. Johnstone, include Vengeance Is Mine, Invasion USA, Border War, Jackknife, Remember the Alamo, Home Invasion, Phoenix Rising, The Blood of Patriots, The Bleeding Edge, and the upcoming Suicide Mission .
It is with the Western, though, that Bill found his greatest success and propelled him onto both the USA Today and New York Times bestseller lists.
Bills western series, co-authored by J. A. Johnstone, include The Mountain Man, Matt Jensen the Last Mountain Man, Preacher, The Family Jensen, Luke Jensen Bounty Hunter, Eagles, MacCallister (an Eagles spin-off), Sidewinders, The Brothers OBrien, Sixkiller, Blood Bond, The Last Gunfighter, and the upcoming new series Flintlock and The Trail West. Coming in May 2013 is the hardcover western Butch Cassidy, The Lost Years.
The Western, Bill says, is one of the few true art forms that is one hundred percent American. I liken the Western as Americas version of Englands Arthurian legends, like the Knights of the Round Table or Robin Hood and his Merry Men. Starting with the 1902 publication of The Virginian by Owen Wister, and followed by the greats like Zane Grey, Max Brand, Ernest Haycox, and of course Louis LAmour, the Western has helped to shape define the cultural landscape of America.
Im no goggle-eyed college academic, so when my fans ask me why the Western is as popular now as it was a century ago, I dont offer a 200-page thesis. Instead, I can only offer this: The Western is honest. In this great country, which is suffering under the yoke of political correctness, the Western harks back to an era when justice was sure and swift. Steal a mans horse, rustle his cattle, rob a bank, a stagecoach, or a train, you were hunted down and fitted with a hangmans noose. One size fit all.
Sure, we westerners are prone to a little embellishment and exaggeration and, I admit it, occasionally play a little fast and loose with the facts. But we do so for a very good reasonto enhance the enjoyment of readers.
It was Owen Wister, in The Virginian who first coined the phrase When you call me that, smile. Legend has it that Wister actually heard those words spoken by a deputy sheriff in Medicine Bow, Wyoming, when another poker player called him a son-of-a-bitch.
Did it really happen, or is it one of those myths that have passed down from one generation to the next? I honestly dont know. But theres a line in one of my favorite Westerns of all time, The Man who Shot Liberty Valance, where the newspaper editor tells the young reporter, When the truth becomes legend, print the legend.
These are the words I live by.
Chapter One
Willow Creek, Colorado
A heavy, booming thunder rolled over the breaks, and gray veils of rain hung down from ominous, black clouds that crowded the hills. Though it had not yet reached him, the storm was moving quickly, and Smoke Jensen took a poncho from his saddlebag and slipped it on to be prepared for the impending downpour.
Smoke was on his way to Denver, and he was butt-sore from riding. Looking to hunker down from the approaching storm, he saw the little town of Willow Creek rising before him. The town had no more than half-a-dozen commercial buildings, and about three dozen houses.
Smoke leaned forward and patted his horse on the neck.
What do you say that we find us a place to ride this storm out? Smoke asked his horse. Often on long, lonely rides, Smoke wanted to hear a human voice, even if it was his own. Talking to his horse provided him with an excuse for talking aloud, without really talking to himself.
A livery for you, and maybe supper and a beer for me, he continued in his one-sided conversation.
